


let my mind reset

by shelikescookies



Series: Cookie's Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelikescookies/pseuds/shelikescookies
Summary: Whumptober 2019 — Day 1: Shaky HandsHis red-rimmed eyes immediately fell on his 'roommate'. Slade sat on the couch, already in a pair of sweats and an off-white t-shirt, and tended to his swords. The disassembled guns lay neatly beside the bloody rags Dick purposely overlooked. He was too tired to fight.Dick was too tired foranything.





	let my mind reset

**Author's Note:**

> First entry for Whumptober '19, wahoo!
> 
> Originally I planned something else for Day 1, but this popped into my head and I hope it still qualifies.
> 
> Maybe I'll post the original entry later, maybe I won't. We'll see.

The rising sun painted the sky a gentle pink, sending a promising new morning over Blüdhaven's skyline. 

Perhaps 5am was a little late for Nightwing to return to his closest safehouse. He ripped off the domino on the balcony, not caring who might see him. His muscles screamed at him, his jaw ached from where he accidentally let a punch slip through his defenses, but the scraped, burning knuckled took the cake. 

It had been a rough night. Not physically — Dick felt amazing, on top of the world, compared to other nights, but the mental, emotional part of it… That's what really dragged him down as he pushed open the glass door and stepped into the apartment. 

His red-rimmed eyes immediately fell on his 'roommate'. Slade sat on the couch, already in a pair of sweats and an off-white t-shirt, and tended to his swords. The disassembled guns lay neatly beside the bloody rags Dick purposely overlooked. He was too tired to fight. 

Dick was too tired for _anything_. 

He dropped the domino were he stood. Unsheathed the escrima sticks and let them fall with a clatter. Only then lifted Slade his head from his work and regarded Dick thoroughly, waging whether he had to step in or let him have his tantrum. 

But as Dick's breathing started to pick up and he fumbled with the zipper on his suit, so very close to a total breakdown did Slade stand up and tore Dick's hands away from his chest, pinned them to his sides and engulfed him into a full-body hug. The kid's accelerated breath was wet on his neck, probably followed by tears just as Dick grasped at his shirt and collapsed. 

Slade lifted Dick up and carried him to the couch where he settled him on his lap and let him wear himself out. Whatever happened out there, Dick needed this. So Slade shut his mouth and simply brushed through his hair, traced the seams on his suit. Anything really he knew would help calm the hero down. 

His patience was rewarded once Dick stopped shaking violently and he felt soft lips press a kiss to his pulse. Slade growled in warning. He knew of Dick's habits to try and turn his emotional trauma into a sexual experience, but the times were over when the mercenary got a hard-on over a distressed and needy Nightwing in his arms. 

"Stop," he demanded and Dick visibly sunk in on himself. Knowing his plan failed, he sighed. 

And he ceased making advances on him, Dick kept uncharacteristically silent, which was getting on Slade's nerves. He really cared for the kid, but due to his more than flawed upbringing by the bat, having an actual conversation about what troubled Dick — Slade considered some of his trickier missions an easier task.

"Are you gonna talk to me?" 

Dick shook his head. 

Slade put his hand under his chin and forced Dick to look at him. His eyes were bright red, glassy, but he met him with a determined glare. He ran his thumb over his swollen lip, but when Dick darted his tongue out, Slade moved to grab his jaw, holding Dick like an insolent child. 

"No sex until you tell me what's going on. You know I hate when you get like that."

The expression on his face changed drastically, turning from a pissed-off brat to biting his lip to hold back tears. 

"I want to be Dick Grayson again," Dick whispered, tears running down his cheeks, wetting Slade's fingers. "I want to go back to — to being that child that, just… that just wanted to perform for an audience." 

Slade's features softened the second he realized what plagued his bird. He went to wipe the tears away that just kept coming. 

"I — I almost killed today," he sobbed, holding his trembling hands in front of him. "He didn't, didn't _do_ anything. But — I couldn't stop! I kept going, on and on!" 

Still staring at his hands like they were something to be scared of, Slade took them in his own and carefully peeled the gloves off of them, producing a pained wince from the man. And once they were off, Slade noticed why. 

The knuckles looked rough — he was bleeding profusely, bruises forming under the skin. Slade bet the escrimas were in a flawless state. Kid really let loose. Almost lost his control. 

While Dick fought for breath, Slade reached for the towels he intended to use on his gear, but used it to wipe away the blood. 

"If Jason didn't drag me from him, I don't know," he said, closing his eyes. "God, if _Jason_ tells me to reel it in—" 

He ripped his hands out of Slade's gentle grasp and buried his face in them and screamed. 

"I'm scared," Dick admitted breathlessly after he was done. "I'm scared. I don't wanna become like them."

'_Like you_', floated between them, unsaid, but they both knew the truth. 

When Dick clawed at his face, Slade straightened in alarm in case he tried to harm himself as a form of punishment. 

"He'd be scared of me, too," he said. "If the — the little kid Grayson saw Nightwing now, he'd be scared. He wouldn't see a hero... He'd see a dangerous man, taking his violent tendencies out on men undeserving of it!" 

His voice cracked by the end of his choked on a sob. 

"I don't wanna be like that — make it stop, _please_!" His hands found their way back into his t-shirt, staining it with blood, tears and sweat. "I can't do this anymore!" 

Holding tightly onto his waist and stroking his back soothingly, Slade pulled Dick close to him again and kissed the top of his head. He'll hold him as long as he needed to cry. 

After what felt like an hour, Dick finally slumped in Slade's arms, loosely holding onto his bicep. 

"I won't let you become like that," Slade promised into the depth of black silk that is Dick's hair. "It doesn't suit you, little bird. No one will ever clip your wings." 

'_Except me_', Slade continued, unheard of Dick, but he knew. 

"I want to be someone young Dick Grayson can be proud of. Look up to me and say 'I want that to be me'. That I didn't waste my parents legacy. That I — I honored them and everything I once stood for as a kid." Dick sought shelter in Slade's neck and voice was thin as he asked, "Am I a bad person, Slade?" 

Slade snorted. "I trust you're incapable of being evil." 

"I've done a lot of bad things. Made many horrible decisions. Endangered myself and my friends on too many occasions." He dragged his head up and searched for Slade's eye. "I'm practically sleeping with the enemy." Dick managed a meek smile. This time when he leaned in, Slade didn't move back and engaged in Dick's lazy and tired make-out session. 

They parted for air and Dick gasped. "My younger self would be devastated." 

"Good thing he's not here then."

"Thank God." 


End file.
